


Wine and Honey Sweet

by akaparalian



Series: Malec Week 2018 [2]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Rome, Alternate Universe - Historical, Enthusiastic Consent, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 02:23:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15233280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akaparalian/pseuds/akaparalian
Summary: Alexander has never been to a bacchanalian before, but, he thinks, if they are all full of men as beautiful as the one before him, he may find himself drawn here much more often in the future.





	Wine and Honey Sweet

**Author's Note:**

> Day Two of Malec Weeeeek! Today's prompt was "Ancient Rome." Good news guys: I know nothing about history. :D OK, that's not quite true, but I definitely took, uh... a lot of historical license here, and, I mean, it's really just porn anyway. *shrugs* It was fun to play with a different sort of voice and style, though!
> 
> (Suuuuper casual reminder that Magnus is, of course, Latin for "great." Also, will I ever write Malec smut that _doesn't_ involve at least mild praise kink??? Lmao of course not, who do you take me for?)
> 
> Enjoy! <3

“What is your name?”

His skin is humming; the air around him seems almost alight, and it clouds in his chest like smoke. All around are the sounds of revelry — joyful shouts, drunken laughter, sighs of pleasure — but amongst all the crowd, there is only one body that his eyes are drawn to.

Alexander has never been to a bacchanalian before, but, he thinks, if they are all full of men as beautiful as the one before him, he may find himself drawn here much more often in the future.

In fact, the man is so beautiful that Alexander cannot help but wonder if he is truly a man at all. Surely he must be born of Venus to have such soft-looking bronze skin, such plush lips, and those eyes… They burn gold in the reflected glow of the bonfires all around, an impossible, breathtaking color. Alexander realizes that he’s staring, that his mouth must be hanging open unattractively, but he finds that he simply cannot help himself. Perhaps it’s due at least in part to the wine singing in his veins, but, well — he just can’t help but stop and look his fill, because the stranger is so breathtaking and here, at least, amidst all this debauchery, he can look and look as much as he likes without fearing rebuke from his father.

Perhaps, if the stranger is amenable, he might even do more than look. The thought fills him with a vivid and lush and almost unexpected heat.

But the man had asked him a question, Alexander realizes suddenly, taking a deep breath in his attempt to center himself. He can’t just stand here stupidly and not answer.

“Alexander,” he says finally, and the man’s lips twist up into something that almost resembles a smirk. “And yours?”

“Magnus,” is the immediate response, voice low and heady. Alexander shivers. What an odd name — but perfect, he thinks, for a person so impossibly beautiful, who exudes an obvious sense of power and grace from every inch of himself. Greatness, indeed.

“Magnus,” Alexander repeats, hardly breathing, because he needs to know what that name tastes like on his tongue. Gods above, how much wine has he had, and what had been in it?

“Indeed.” Another quick quirking of lips. “Forgive me, but I have never seen you here before, and I like to pride myself on thinking that I know everyone. Besides which, I simply have to know _anyone_ as lovely as you.”

Alexander blinks. It is only now that he notices that all the looking that he has been doing has been entirely mutual.

 _Oh_. Desire pools in his belly.

“I-I’ve never been here before,” he manages to stutter out before the want in Magnus’ golden eyes can consume him, but it’s a near thing.

Magnus hums, and suddenly — so suddenly — he is much closer than he had been, his fingers teasing over Alexander’s collarbone, his breath gusting across Alexander’s cheek. Alexander is bare from the hips up, his body oiled, like many of the other revelers, and the glide of fingers across his bare, slick skin is dizzying.

“And tell me, Alexander,” that decadent voice purrs directly into his ear. “ _Why_ did you come here tonight?”

He is breathing as though he is drowning, and his heart is stuttering in his chest as though he has run through all the Empire in a day. He closes his eyes — for a moment, only a moment, because he can’t bear to look away — and when he opens them again, Magnus has drawn back just slightly, eyes fixed on his own. There is a crown of leaves perched over his dark hair, their edges gilded, and Alexander finds himself suddenly, desperately wanting to knock it away, to sink his fingers in its place and _tug_.

“I came for this,” Alexander gasps, and crushes their lips together.

It’s far from his first kiss, but he’s half-drunk and already incredibly aroused and Magnus is the most beautiful creature he’s ever seen, and all of this means that Alexander’s kissing is incredibly artless. He’s sure he tastes of wine; Magnus certainly does. But they meld together either way, their bodies pressing against each other at all points as Magnus smoothly moves to cup his head in both hands, and Alexander doesn’t even try to resist the way he shivers and moans at the touch.

There are people all around — so many people — engaged in a myriad of illicit activities, but Alexander’s whole world narrows to the places where Magnus’ skin is brushing against his. They are both dressed in a manner befitting their surroundings, in loose garments designed to keep very little hidden; Alexander had blushed before, thinking of himself in such a state of undress, but now it seems wholly appropriate. Magnus’ hands come to curl possessively around his hipbones, and Alexander _whines_ into his mouth, his head already spinning.

Before he knows what’s happening, they’re stumbling through the crowd. They never stop kissing, not for more than a moment, but the kisses get looser and sloppier and filthier, their mouths and tongues sliding together in a way that makes Alexander incredibly aware of how aroused he is. 

“ _Here_ we are, finally,” Magnus groans against his lips, and shoves him backward suddenly.

Alexander falls into a tent, losing his balance in a way that would be embarrassing if he weren’t so intoxicated because of the wine and because of the kissing and because of _Magnus_ , and collapses directly onto a low bed covered in furs and soft silks. The bed, in fact, seems to take up the entirety of the tent, at least according to the quick wide-eyed look around he gets before Magnus is upon him again.

Their lips meet again and again, and he can taste Magnus like honey on the back of his tongue. His head is spinning, completely incoherent, and he desperately reaches up to clutch at Magnus’ shoulders and drag him down. Magnus comes easily, slotting a leg down between Alexander’s; unable to stop himself, Alexander rocks up against it, and they both moan.

“Gods above, you’re beautiful,” Magnus murmurs against his lips, and Alexander feels a strange sort of pride at the way the words sound punch-drunk and almost delirious. “I want to touch you, darling, can I?”

Alexander had thought that all of his moaning and gasping and the desperate roll of his hips was invitation enough, but he gasps, “ _Please_.”

Magnus wastes no time stripping him out of his clothing so that he is bare across the bed, rich fabrics shifting under him in a way that makes him shiver, and then he is _everywhere_ , descending on Alexander like a whole host, hands slipping down easily from his waist to his hips and then trailing lightly up his thighs. His fingertips feel like they’re leaving flickering flames in their wake, and Alexander isn’t even ashamed of the low, needy sounds that are pouring out of his mouth, because it feels too, too good even _before_ Magnus wraps the long, elegant fingers of one hand around his cock and strokes loosely.

He has an urgent _need_ to get Magnus naked, too, to feel every brush of skin against skin that he can possibly manage — and besides, when he glances down he can clearly see evidence of Magnus’ own desire even through the fabric, and he has a desperate, greedy need to see, to touch. So Alexander bows his body upwards, getting closer so that he can push and shove Magnus’ clothes out of the way, which has the added benefit of making their groins rub together deliciously.

Time seems to slip sideways, and he honestly doesn’t know if that’s from the wine still making his head a little light or from the even more dizzying effect of Magnus’ touches, but between one moment and the next they are both bare, and the next time Alexander arches up, unable to stop himself, their cocks rub together deliciously, Magnus’ hand trapped between them. A moan bubbles out of his lips and he collapses back against the bed; his legs spread wantonly before he even gets a chance to think, because that one touch has made him achingly sure that he knows what he wants.

“ _Magnus_ ,” he gasps, eyes flitting all over the other man’s body, taking in as much as he can in the semidarkness of the tent. Magnus’ eyes glitter almost dangerously in the half-light, and he leans down to press their foreheads together. “Oh, please, I need —” 

He can’t quite finish the thought, instead rolling his hips up again; they both groan, and Magnus removes his hand from between their bellies to stroke it under Alexander’s jaw instead, tipping his chin up just so before leaning in to kiss him breathless.

“What do you need, Alexander?” Magnus asks him, the words almost a growl. It’s the sultriest thing Alexander has ever heard, and he whines, tilting his head to the side, because looking into Magnus’ eyes in the dim light while he speaks in that voice, while their hips are still pressed together, is simply too much.

He’s never had to _ask_ for this before; in all his previous experiences — usually semi-clandestine fumbles — it was just assumed that both parties were on the same page, because they almost always were, and if they weren’t things could always be brought to a halt. But this, Magnus demanding that he spell it out, making him _beg_ , it’s igniting something boiling hot and desperate in him.

So, “Please, please, I need you to fuck me,” he groans, and doesn’t feel even the least bit embarrassed, especially because Magnus descends on him like a force of nature the instant the words are out of his mouth, primal noises of delight slipping out of his throat even as he pins Alexander fiercely to the bed with searing-hot open-mouthed kisses.

He’s moaning out little endearments against Alexander’s lips — “beautiful” and “incredible” and “irresistable” — and it’s _those_ words, not his own filthy ones, that make Alexander flush and turn his face away, an uncomfortable knot in his chest, because hearing such a beautiful creature say those things to him, _about_ him, is just too much.

But Magnus grabs his jaw again, a little more fiercely this time, and turns him so that he’s forced to look into Magnus’ eyes again.

“I mean every word, Alexander,” he says, and Alexander can’t help but shiver. “Every single word. You are a vision, and I’m going to do just as you asked, darling, because you asked so nicely, and because you are so unfathomably beautiful.”

It can’t be true — it can’t — but the words ignite under his skin, and breathlessly, Alexander nods.

Magnus watches him for a moment more, staring at him intently, and then seems to have found something that satisfies him, because all at once he’s in motion again, leaning forward to press more searing kisses into Alexander’s mouth even as he reaches past him, for something set off to the side of the bed in the scant few inches between them and the soft walls of the tent.

What it is that he’s searching for becomes incredibly apparent when he leans back, pressing kisses all the way down Alexander’s jaw and neck and collarbone and sternum before he does, and reaches with one hand to hook Alexander’s leg over his waist, spreading him out just so. Alexander shivers, knowing what must be coming next, and sure enough, a slick finger skates down between his thighs, circling around his entrance. 

His breath hitches around a moan at the touch, even though it’s feather-light, and Magnus looses an answering sound from deep within his chest. And then his finger is pressing in, in, in, and Alexander wriggles around it, not quite enough yet to really stretch him but a tantalizing promise of what’s to come.

“More, more,” he pants, breathless, and Magnus smiles wolfishly before giving him what he’s asked for, a second finger slipping in to join the first. He waits for Alexander to shift back against them encouragingly before beginning to stretch him in earnest, but only just; his fingers are relentless and wickedly talented, and it takes no time at all for him to crook them just _so_ and make Alexander see stars.

The noise he makes at that hardly even sounds human, and Magnus responds to it with a breathless laugh. “Gods, you’re so responsive,” he breathes, and Aleander isn’t even really sure if the words are meant for him to hear; either way, they make something in him twist, and he presses his hips down onto Magnus’ fingers even harder, silently begging.

“Please,” he adds out loud, when wordlessness doesn’t seem to be doing the trick, and Magnus obligingly pushes another finger into him — and then, when he quickly starts to get impatient and demanding again, yet _another_ , which has Alexander all but sobbing.

He can’t imagine that he needs more than this, no matter _how_ impressive Magnus’ cock is, and while he likes the fingers he knows there’s something even better waiting just out of reach. It’s almost embarrassing, then, how long it takes him to realize that Magnus is _teasing_ , that he’s waiting for something — no, not _something_ , Alexander realizes, that he’s waiting for Alexander to ask, to beg, again, just as he had before. That thought shouldn’t make him keen, but gods, it _does_ , even as he feels all four of Magnus’ fingers drag deliciously across his rim.

Alexander decides once and for all, very abruptly, that he is _not_ above begging.

“ _Please_ fuck me,” he half-sobs, thrusting his hips down onto Magnus’ fingers in abortive little half-motions, desperate for more, more, always more. “I can’t take it, I need — _oh_ —”

Magnus has all but ripped his fingers out of him, so the last word is a slightly pained exhalation, but Alexander doesn’t have to wait long at all before he feels the hot, blunt head of Magnus’ cock pressing against him and all but weeps with relief.

“So beautiful,” Magnus mumbles for what feels like the millionth time, and fucks into him slow and smooth, a low, guttural noise scraping itself out of his throat when he’s buried as deeply in Alexander as he can be, their hips flush together.

Alexander, for his part, is utterly wordless, his eyes shut tight and his mouth dropped open in a soft ‘o.’ He is stock-still but for his trembling, and Magnus waits patiently before moving again, waits until Alexander grips desperately at his hips and gasps out yet another desperate plea.

Their bodies are slick with oil and sweat and the pre-come which is dripping from Alexander’s cock down onto his stomach, and they slide together, the pace of their hips as they move together only ever increasing, ratcheting up as Magnus fucks into him harder and faster, until Alexander isn’t sure how he can possibly maintain the pace, much less continue to increase it.

All around him is the hot, humid, barely-lit atmosphere of the tent, and just outside that, he can still hear the sounds of the bacchanalian proceeding without them, shouts and cheers and all manner of primal noises, but none of that matters, none of it sticks in Alexander’s mind for even a second, because he’s too busy squeezing his eyes shut tight and all but sobbing and trying desperately to shove his hips upwards to meet each of Magnus’ thrusts, to take him deeper, feel the press of his cock against his sweet spot, chasing the feeling, chasing his release — 

His eyes snap open on a particularly hard thrust, and he lets out a low, raw cry, his gaze flicking rapidly over the man above him, trying to memorize every aspect of him, of this moment. Perhaps it should come as a surprise when he notices that Magnus is doing just the same, golden eyes tracing over every part of him, but it doesn’t.

“Beautiful,” Magnus breathes, looking down at him, and comes.

Alexander feels it in the stutter of his hips, in the way Magnus’ cock throbs against his own hole, in the sudden hot, wet feeling inside him. Magnus is breathing heavily, hard and ragged, and leaning down with one hand desperately pressed into the bed and shaking with the effort of keeping him upright, but his other hand flies immediately to Alexander’s cock, still weeping between them; it takes barely a touch before Alexander is coming too, crying out and arching into the sensation, into Magnus.

It is several long moments before either of them can move at all, but then Magnus carefully pulls out and collapses just to the side of him, their bodies still hot and slick and growing slightly sticky and tangled together intrinsically. 

“Gods,” Alexander gasps, a bare exhalation, because it’s all he can think to say, at first. And then, “Gods, Magnus, that was — you are —”

A satisfied chuckle comes from beside him, sounding rough with the way Magnus’ throat, if he’s feeling anything like Alexander is right now, is worn out from all the noise they’ve been making together. 

He doesn’t say anything properly, though; they just lie there in near-silence, in the private world of the tent — which, though he hadn’t thought about it before, really, Alexander has to assume is Magnus’ — until Alexander gets enough breath back in his lungs to speak again. His voice is quiet now, a little uncertain, but he can’t quite stop himself from saying, “After that, I don’t think I ever want to leave this bed.”

Magnus’ eyes are gleaming with amusement, but even in the dim atmosphere of the tent, Alexander can tell that it’s soft, not cruel or taunting.

“Well, my gorgeous Alexander,” he purrs, “I think you’ll find that the night is still young. We have _plenty_ of time to continue enjoying the festivities.”

And Alexander can’t help it; he smiles, and leans in to kiss him, and lets himself be swept away.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [Tumblr](http://floralegia.tumblr.com) or [Twitter](http://twitter.com/akaparalian)!


End file.
